Thio jumps as the large man at the head of the table slams his fist down in anger.

“I don’t give a damn about your excuses, this is an outrage! An insult!” Duke Hosta screams, spittle flying from his pudgy lips in his rage.

To Thio, the man had always looked like a pig, snorting and squealing before burying his face into the trough and gorging himself once again. Coming to the council always disgusted him, but his father had been trying to curry favour with the vile Duke for years, so Thio was obligated to attend at his side.

The man who is currently the target of the Duke’s ire is Jabor, the master of coin, a thin, shifty man with eyes that never fully open properly. He always reminded Thio of a snake, always slithering away from the consequences of his actions and slipping around the edges of decency. Right now the man is wringing his hands, his head bowed, after delivering the news that the entire northern province’s taxes have disappeared.

Lifting his head, Jabor speaks in a nasal voice. “But my lord, the collection rights have already been purchased-”

“I don’t care about the rights!” Duke Hosta roars, cutting the man off. “A tax collector appointed by me has been killed! An attack on them is an attack on me! I want this insult dealt with, immediately!”

Jabor bows his head once again, not daring to speak up any further. Thio can see the man’s dilemma. Dealing with this attack will require men, a lengthy expedition, and likely find nothing at the end of it. Between the Duke’s extravagant lifestyle, the taxes from the Empire, and the general unprofitability of the country there isn’t much left for such a pointless expense. The Duke had never been particularly frugal with his spending after all.

Duke Hosta sits back, his chair creaking under the strain of supporting his massive bulk. The room is quiet as each of the members carefully avoid the Duke’s gaze, keeping their eyes down.

Just as the silence becomes uncomfortable, Thio’s father, Lord Walric Hostmeir, stirs beside him, sitting forward. With alarm, Thio grabs his arm to try to keep him from doing anything rash. His father turns towards him, flashing a wide smile, completely ignorant of his concern.

“My lord,” Walric says before Thio can do more to urge him back to silence. “I think I can help you, my lord.”

Duke Hosta sits forward, a smile creasing his jowls. “Lord Hostmeir, I’m listening.”

Puffing up slightly at the attention, Walric continues. “I will avenge this insult to your person.” He says pompously. “I will send my son with a group of my best men to find the perpetrators and deliver them to justice!” Rising from his seat Walric gives a bow, waving his hand with a flourish in the style of the pandering supplicants that infest the court.

It is only the rigid self-control drilled into Thio over the years that stops him burying his face into his hands. What a fool. Sending away even more of their men, when they barely have enough to defend their lands, is a mistake. Maybe even a large enough mistake to ruin them. On top of that, without Thio at the estate to curb his father’s whims, the old man will throw the remainder of their wealth straight into the hands of the Duke, in the hopes for even a morsel more favour.

Duke Hosta grins widely. “My dear friend Walric. I knew I could count on you.” Looking around at the other occupants in the room his eyes go hard. “The rest of you could learn a thing or two from his example, this is how a true friend behaves.”

On the other side of the table, a sinewy old man sits forward, adjusting his shirt. “My lord, of course I would be more than happy to assist my good friend Lord Hostmeir in the delivery of justice. My sons are sadly predisposed, but my daughter is a most accomplished mage. Along with a complement of men, we will be sure to come down on the villains with the full force of the law.”

Walric sits down slowly, glowering across the table at his rival, the other man having stolen the Duke’s attention.

Duke Hosta claps his hands together. “Then it is agreed. Lord Marches and Lord Hostmeir will deal with this immediately. I look forward to positive results before midwinter.” With that, he pushes his chair back and stands. Wheezing slightly under the exertion he turns and waddles out of the room.

The sound of scraping chairs fills the room as the rest of the council stand to leave the meeting. Turning to Thio, Walric smiles widely and grips his shoulders, squeezing hard.

“You hear that son, if we deal with this the Duke will surely favour us. We will finally be able to turn things about for our family.”

Thio avoids his gaze, sick of seeing the blind faith in his father’s eyes. The man truly believed that the road to success was to please someone at the top and have them hand you power, influence, and position. Is if it were that easy.

The sound of the clearing of a throat brings Thio a reprieve. To their side stands Lord Marches, this arms tucked into the ruffles of his wide sleeves.

“It will be a pleasure to work with you Lord Hostmeir.” He says, his grimace and flat tone of voice saying the exact opposite.

Thio's father glares back at him, his jaw tight. Slowly a strained smile is forced into his face. "Yes… a true… pleasure." He grinds out.

Lord Marches looks to Thio, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So, I believe you are to lead this expedition?"

Thio nods slowly, looking to his father for confirmation.

"Yes he is." Walric responds, still glaring at Lord Marches.

"I hope you won't feel inadequate when compared to my daughter then. After all, it is only natural for a mage to outperform a non-mage." Lord Marches gloats.

"We. Shall. See." Walric manages from behind gritted teeth.

"Yes, we shall." Lord Marches responds, all traces of a smile gone. "I trust a week will suffice to prepare your men?"

Thio nods. “I will have the boats ready by then, with space for two score passengers. Half provided by you, half provided by us. That seems fair, does it not?”

Lord Marches squints his eyes, thinking. The man was notoriously manipulative, and Thio knows that if the man had the flexibility to greatly outnumber his own men, then Thio would likely meet with an ‘accident’ during the expedition. Though it strained their already stretched purse, providing the boats let him ensure that the balance of power stayed even. Well, balanced before taking into account the man’s daughter.

Eventually, Lord Marches nods. “Then my daughter will meet you with our men in a week. Good day.”

With that, he turns and strides off. To Thio's side, his father murmurs a string of expletives under his breath.

Thio rubs his forehead, letting out a deep sigh. He can feel that this trip is going to turn into a real headache. Hopefully, they can find some hapless bandits, execute them, and pass them off as the perpetrators. He’d not heard much about the heiress to the Marches estate, beyond the fact that she was reportedly a glowing student of the magical arts. With any luck, she would be more approachable than her father.

“Thio, this is fantastic!” Walric says. “This is our chance, you need to make sure that the Marches claim none of the glory during this expedition.”

“Are you serious…” Thio mutters, trying to keep the annoyance from his face. “You know how hard it is going to be to achieve any of what the Duke wants. If someone killed the tax collector, the gold will be long gone.”

This father looks pensive for a moment, then his face lights up. “On that front, I may have an idea. You know the rumours of that new city far up north? Well, I spoke to Jabor earlier, and apparently he hasn’t received any taxes from them at all yet.”

Thio looks up at his father, surprised. The idea was… surprisingly sensible. Tax collectors only purchased the rights to tax the smallfolk in their province, those that lived in villages and towns too small to be owned by one of the peerage. A noble with the title of Viscount or higher had the right to claim a small territory, in return for paying taxes to the Duke’s coffers directly. Thio’s own estates were owned in this way, his father paying the Duke roughly a fifth of what they earn for the right to do so.

If this rumoured city was truly growing as fast as he’d heard, then it was likely the passion project of a Viscount. Such a man would easily have the money, and if Thio claims to be there to collect the Duke’s tribute, then he may even be able to return and claim success.

Maybe, he could even do it fast enough to get back home before his father could give away the rest of their assets in the fruitless bid to please the Duke.